


Life

by yeaka



Category: Dirk Gently's Holistic Detective Agency (TV 2016)
Genre: Gen, Vignette
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2018-09-13
Updated: 2018-09-13
Packaged: 2019-07-11 16:20:04
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 884
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/15975971
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/yeaka/pseuds/yeaka
Summary: Panto and Silas ask their king about children.





	Life

**Author's Note:**

> Disclaimer: I don’t own Dirk Gently’s Holistic Detective Agency or any of its contents, and I’m not making any money off this.

There’s a slight tremor in Silas’ grip, but with an intake of breath, he stills it. Panto squeezes tight around his palm but can’t offer any words. There’s nothing to say now, nothing to do but _hope_. Their king is a kind one, wise beyond his years, but he’s already done so much for them, and asking for _more_ is a daunting task. Panto feels nervous too.

Finally, Silas murmurs, “We had best go in,” and steps forward. 

Panto follows, adding only, “Yes.”

Together, they climb the stone steps of the twisted castle that looks over all of Wendimoor. It isn’t as colourful or as polished as the home of the Dengdamors, nor as vast and beautiful as the valley of Inglenook. But its vine-covered walls hold their own magic, and the might and majesty of the ruins is absolute. Panto and Silas follow along the winding path until they reach the arched door into the throne room, wherein their overlord awaits.

Francis is home. He isn’t on his throne, like usual, but sprawled out along the floor, a burger-flower half eaten at his side and a crayon in his hand, papers scattered everywhere. Panto has to resist the urge to look too long at them—it isn’t his place to know the whims of his creator. Francis looks up when he hears them, smiling. 

Automatically, Silas dips into a bow. Panto moves swiftly to mirror it. As they straighten, Panto greets, “King Francis.”

“Panto, Silas,” Francis answers in return. He gestures them forward with one hand, asking, “What’s up?”

Silas hesitates. He glances down, then at Panto, and Panto, still with Silas’ fingers intertwined through his own, offers another reassuring squeeze. He ventures first, “We would like to thank you again for your blessing on our marriage.”

“Of course,” Francis says, like it’s nothing, and the two of their families haven’t been at odds since the very beginning of time. “Congratulations.”

Panto smiles his thanks. In the corner of his eye, he can see Silas doing the same. Francis waits, perhaps for more, but when they fail to provide it, his attention returns to his drawing. He drags a blue crayon across a green field, and Panto can’t help but wonder if they’ll find a new river on their way back to their homes.

After a long moment, Silas clears his throat and continues, “Unfortunately... we seem to have run into another point of contention with our parents.”

Francis looks up, blinking innocently at them. “Oh? I thought everything was peaceful.”

“It is,” Panto hastily tells him. “Everything is well. It’s just...”

Silas opens and closes his mouth a few times before explaining, “My mother... she would like a grandchild, you see. Not yet, of course, but at some point in the future. And while I explained to her that we could certainly find someone willing to bear us a child, or even find, perhaps, a child who has become parentless, she insists on one that came from _me_. The trouble is that neither of us is able to bear one.”

“And my father wishes the same of me,” Panto adds, “Though I, too, care little where our heir should come from, so long as we both can love them.”

Francis only blinks again. For all intents and purposes, Francis himself looks very much like _a child_ , but he’s also their divine creator, and Panto isn’t sure where that leaves their wishes in terms of appropriateness. 

Panto is the one to finally say it: “Please forgive us if we overstep... but we were wondering if, perhaps, you could create for us a compromise: a child that comes from both.”

The throne room is quiet. Silas shifts his weight to the other foot. Francis glances at his picture but draws nothing new. Clearly, he must be in thought, so Panto and Silas patiently await his verdict.

After tapping his chin a few times, Francis does look back at them. He slowly says, “I _could_...” Panto’s heart does a little flip at the thought of success—of pleasing both their parents and holding a tiny child in his arms, looking up at him with pink hair and Silas’ eyes. But then Francis continues, “But I don’t think I will.” Silas visibly wilts. Francis goes on: “You’re _princes_ , you know, and heroes, and someday, you’re going to be in charge. If you think that love matters more than who came from where, then you should say so, and not let your parents tell you what to do.”

Flabbergasted, Panto struggles with words for a moment before exclaiming, “You’re right!”

“Of course,” Silas agrees, and then: “Thank you, Your Majesty. You’re quite wise.”

“I know,” Francis chirps, grinning with the sort of happiness that now lives in all their land. “Just try not to let them fight too much over it, okay?”

Panto nods, and Silas dips into another bow. Panto already knows his father won’t be pleased, but Litzibitz will, and he’s sure that bitter attitude will chance once his father actually sees Panto and Silas with their beloved child. He can sense that Silas is equally at peace with the decision.

They leave together, sharing a quick kiss outside the castle, and they return to joyful wedding plans as they begin their long walk home.


End file.
